


Casting About

by poetzproblem



Category: Glee
Genre: Costars, F/F, Faberry Week, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's presence here today is for no other reason than to support Rachel as she gets back up on the proverbial horse. After her brief tenure as the Glee Club coach at McKinley, Rachel's own competitive nature and love of performing had experienced a welcome renaissance, and she'd finally decided to replant her roots back into the theater community where they belong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casting About

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Written for Faberry Week, Day 1 - Unresolved Sexual Tension  & a touch of Day 3 - Costars. Inspired by a UST prompt on the faberryprompts tumblr.
> 
> Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta and for putting together these Faberry Weeks.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Glee_

 

 _Casting is storytelling._  
_~Joss Whedon_

_xx_

The room is steadily growing emptier and emptier. Rachel shakes out her hands as she paces back and forth, and then she stops, takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders and then her neck—methodically loosening the muscles—before she opens and closes her mouth in a series of silent exercises that she's very well aware would look extremely odd to a casual observer. In fact, the slightly disheveled gentleman nursing a cup of coffee across from her is currently staring at her in mild bemusement, but Rachel ignores him and turns around.

"I thought a thought, but the thought I thought was not the thought I thought I thought," she quietly enunciates. "I thought a thought, but the thought I thought was not the thought I thought I thought. I thought a thought…"

"If you say that one more time, the thought you think you thought will be _ouch_ , because I will punch you."

Rachel frowns as she glances to where Quinn has been quietly sitting for the last hour, reading a book. She hasn't moved an inch except to turn the pages (because she still prefers the paper version to the electronic) and her eyes are still steadfastly focused on the black typeface, but the irritated chastisement most certainly came from her lips. Rachel doesn't for one moment believe that Quinn will resort to physical violence with her—they're well beyond the days of hormonally fueled meltdowns in bathrooms—but her verbal reprimands occasionally trend to agitated hyperboles.

"Quinn! You're not being very supportive right now."

Quinn sighs, finally letting the book drop lower into her lap as she looks up at Rachel. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Rachel gently bites the inside of her lip as she shifts around and slides into the empty chair on Quinn's right. It's true. Quinn's presence here today is for no other reason than to support Rachel as she gets back up on the proverbial horse. After her brief tenure as the Glee Club coach at McKinley—during which she'd not only successfully resurrected the club from the wreckage of William Schuester's poor management but also led them to another National Show Choir Championship—Rachel's own competitive nature and love of performing had experienced a welcome renaissance, and she'd finally decided to replant her roots back into the theater community where they belong. Of course, there's the tiny obstacle of her name still being blacklisted in both New York and Los Angeles due to her unfortunate, youthful mistakes and the millions of dollars that she'd cost two separate, very powerful producers, but Rachel isn't about to let that stop her. She's just taking a slightly more meandering route back to Broadway via the thriving Chicago theater scene—or she hopes to be if this audition goes well.

Quinn had actually been the one to offhandedly suggest, in one of their semi-regular emails, that Rachel should try to get back on a stage in Chicago if she was hesitant about crossing those burnt bridges in New York. Quinn herself had moved to the city shortly after she'd graduated from Yale, having just broken things off with Noah for good—irreconcilable differences, according to Quinn. Rachel doesn't know the whole story, but by all accounts, Noah wasn't happy about their breakup while Quinn seemed (and still seems) completely unfazed. In any case, Rachel's on-again-off-again friendship with Quinn has been completely on-again since they'd ended up in the same city, hence Quinn's presence here today. Well—the free meal that Rachel had promised Quinn if she came along might have something to do with it too.

Moving to Chicago has been the best decision that Rachel has made in a very long time.

"I appreciate your company more than you know," Rachel concedes with a grateful smile, "but a little more positive energy certainly wouldn't hurt."

That haughty eyebrow—yes, an eyebrow can be haughty all by itself—inches up above Quinn's left eye. "I'm _positive_  that reciting nonsensical tongue twisters isn't going to win you this part."

Rachel puffs out an indignant breath and crosses her arms. "They're vocal warm-ups, Quinn. You should try them sometime."

Quinn's lips quirk into some semblance of a smile as she casually leans back in her chair. "No, thank you. I prefer to quietly meditate before an audition."

 _Of course she does_ , Rachel thinks grumpily. Quinn is nothing if not taciturn. Rachel is constantly wondering what mysterious thoughts are taking shape behind those hazel eyes. "I still don't know why you aren't auditioning today," she comments as her gaze darts around the room to the other hopeful actors and actresses still waiting to be called for their chance to wow the casting directors. Quinn is probably more talented than most of them and certainly prettier—not that appearances should matter at all. She hopes.

The disheveled gentleman with the coffee is still staring at her—or them now, she supposes—though his bemusement looks to have transformed into an odd sort of interest, and Rachel frowns.

"Musicals are your thing, Rachel," Quinn points out, pulling Rachel's attention away from the man. "I'm occasionally sharp, remember," she reminds her with a teasing grin.

Rachel feels her face flush. "That was years ago," she dismisses guiltily. "You have a lovely voice."

Quinn's grin widens, and she tips her head thoughtfully. "So, you're telling me that I should go after the role you want? The role you've been talking about nonstop for the past two weeks. The role that was practically written for you," she presses, leaning closer to Rachel as her voice dips lower.

Rachel purses her lips, eyeing Quinn guardedly. She really does want this part. "Upon further reflection, you're certainly capable of determining your own strengths."

Quinn laughs lightly, sitting back again and crossing her legs as she lifts her book. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Rachel hates letting Quinn win an argument—she always has—and she huffs audibly. "We may be friends now, Quinn Fabray, but I'm certainly not afraid of a little competition."

"Oh, it would be more than a little, Rachel," Quinn warns her with confidence. "Casting directors love me."

"You've only had two small supporting roles, Quinn," Rachel challenges irritably.

Quinn shrugs. "It's two more than you've had since you started auditioning again."

The stab of pain is unexpected, and Rachel sucks in a harsh breath. Quinn grimaces, looking immediately remorseful. "Believe me, I don't need to be reminded of that," Rachel whispers sadly. She's very well aware that she has yet to succeed in landing a role in the months since she'd moved to Chicago and that she's barely scraping by on what's left of her savings and the money that she earns giving vocal lessons to the few students whose parents are impressed by her meager credentials. The only thing that's really been keeping her powering through the rejections has been Quinn's encouragement.

"I'm sorry, Rach," Quinn apologizes earnestly. "It was a poor attempt at a joke."

Rachel nods jerkily, standing up and turning away from Quinn. She has an audition to prepare for, after all. She's going to get this part and prove to Quinn that at least one casting director will love her too. She aims a scowl at that man who's still watching them, then presses a palm to her diaphragm and continues her warm-ups, taking a deep breath and exhaling with a firm, well-projected, "Ho…hi…hey…he…"

"Rachel," Quinn begs from beside her.

Rachel keeps her focus on her breathing. "Ho…hi…hey…he..."

Quinn determinedly reaches out to catch her hand, forcing Rachel's attention back to her. "Do you want me to go?" she asks uncertainly.

Rachel stares down into Quinn's glittering eyes, taking in the distress on her face, and she deflates, shaking her head. "No," she admits, silently acknowledging how much she really does want Quinn to stay and be her personal cheerleader—even if she occasionally sucks at it. One would think that the girl who managed to become the youngest Cheerio captain in squad history would be much better at her job, but Quinn has always been something of an enigma. Rachel forces her lips to curve just a little bit, reminding Quinn, "You drove me here."

Quinn chuckles, nodding as she gently lets go of Rachel's hand. "And you owe me a dinner after you win this part."

Rachel's smile widens. She rolls her shoulder again, lifting her hands to shake out the extra tension in her body, but when she does, she inadvertently smacks the guy that's been watching them as he makes his way to the exit. "Oh, sorry," Rachel offers automatically.

He waves her apology away, eyes flashing with interest as they move from Rachel to Quinn and back again. "Don't worry about it," he assures her with a smile, nodding before he pulls open the door. "Good luck in there," he tells her as he heads out.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

"Creeper much," Quinn mutters, watching him leave.

Rachel hums in agreement. "I certainly hope he won't be my costar."

When Quinn smiles up at her with soft, glittering eyes tinted green, a fresh wave of nervous energy overtakes Rachel, and she feels like she has to move or she'll explode, so she begins to pace once again, silently reciting her monologue. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Quinn sigh as she leans back in her chair and lifts her book. She only feels a tiny bit guilty for monopolizing Quinn's day this way. Mostly, she's just happy that Quinn is here with her. The feeling is becoming something of a troubling precedent. 

After a few more minutes of pacing, the door opens and the woman calls out, "Rachel Berry."

Rachel's body jolts, and she inhales sharply, reflexively glancing at Quinn to see the encouraging expression on her face. "Knock 'em dead, Rach," she urges, and Rachel nods determinedly, grabbing her sheet music from her bag as she quickly follows the woman out of the waiting room, down the hallway, and into the backstage area.

"Your music," the woman prompts, holding out her hand. Rachel gives it to her and swallows down her nerves. "Walk to center stage, state your name and your song selection. You'll sing first, and then they may or may not ask you to perform your monologue."

Rachel frowns, wondering if she'll need to nail her song to even be asked to read for the role. She suddenly wishes that she'd chosen something more traditional for her audition piece, perhaps one of her go-to Broadway ballads, but it's too late to change her mind now—and anyway, she did choose her song to stand out from the crowd. Quinn had agreed that it would be a good choice, and she'd assured Rachel that she sang it perfectly all eight times that Rachel had made her listen to it.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel lifts her chin and glides across the stage with the confidence of a woman who's already taken Broadway by storm—because that's who she is, even if she'd foolishly squandered that flash of lightning in a bottle that she'd been handed. She's older and wiser now, and she certainly won't make the same mistakes again.

She stops perfectly on her mark, spinning to look out into the dim theatre. She can't quite make out the faces looking back at her with the current lighting configuration, but she can tell that she has three people to impress. It's a brand new musical about missed opportunities and second chances in unexpected places—the rather lengthy synopsis and character breakdowns were enough to get Rachel excited when she'd applied for the audition—and she suspects that at least one of those shadowy chairs is occupied by the Chicago-based writer and composer, Tobias Cairns.

"Hello. My name is Rachel Berry, and I'll be singing the modern classic, 'Time After Time'."

The pianist begins to play the stripped down arrangement, and Rachel lets herself sink into the music and the bittersweet emotion of the song. She's missed this so much—this feeling that she only gets when she's standing in the middle of a stage under the warm glow of the spotlight. She'd allowed her first rush of success go to her head and send her off in search of the next high instead of savoring the moment, and she lets all of her regrets rise to the surface to color her voice as she sings.

When the last note fades, she stands in silence and awaits her judgment. Her monologue is on the tip of her tongue if—no _when_ —they ask for it. She sees the figure on the far left lean over to address his (or her) colleagues in hushed whispers that she can't distinguish, and she grows increasingly uncomfortable as she waits for them to tell her whether or not to proceed. After what seems like forever, the person on the left stands and shuffles out of the row, walking down the aisle towards the stage. As he gets closer, Rachel is able to make out his features, and she internally groans when she recognizes him as the guy who'd been eavesdropping on her and Quinn in the waiting area. Before Rachel can really see where he's going in such a hurry, a voice from out in the auditorium calls her attention back to the other two people running the audition.

"Ms. Berry. If you could please wait there a moment until Tobias returns."

Rachel's stomach dips at the realization that Tobias Cairns is the creepy, disheveled, coffee guy from earlier. She quickly replays her behavior in an attempt to determine if she's said or done anything that could have made a bad impression—other than the little hissy-fit that she'd thrown with Quinn. Ugh! Well, at least they're asking her to wait instead of telling her to get lost. That has to mean that she still has a chance.

Two minutes later, Tobais returns, appearing from backstage with pages clutched in his hands and a very confused (and slightly annoyed) Quinn in tow. "Quinn. What are you doing here?" Rachel asks with a frown.

Quinn's eyes narrow. "You tell me. This guy just said that you needed me to come back here. I thought you were having a panic attack or something."

"When have you ever known me to have a panic attack?" Rachel demands. She doesn't know exactly what's going on, but she doesn't like it.

Quinn gazes at her thoughtfully. "Well, there was that time when Finn…"

"That was years ago," Rachel cuts her off harshly, crossing her arms while her promising audition circles the drain.

"Excuse me for being concerned about you," Quinn mutters. "It's not like I asked to get dragged into this…whatever this is." She turns to scowl at Tobais Cairns, who Rachel notices is grinning at them like an idiot. "Care to tell me exactly why I'm here?"

"Because you're perfect," he answers with a wide grin.

Rachel glares at him, moving to put herself between Quinn and Tobias. She doesn't care if he _is_ the writer—the way he's eyeing up Quinn is simply not acceptable. "Quinn might be perfect, but this is _my_  audition," she reminds him hotly.

He chuckles. "No. No, you're _both_  perfect," he tells them with that same maddening grin before he turns out to address his two cohorts. "Didn't I tell you they were perfect?" he calls out before looking at Quinn and Rachel once again. "You're exactly what's been missing from every, single one of these tedious auditions. The banter. The palpable chemistry. The genuine concern for one another bubbling just beneath the surface. You _are_  Tracy and Alex."

Rachel shakes her head, utterly flabbergasted. "Isn't Alex a 25 to 35 year-old man? I'm quite certain the character breakdown specifically stated that," she points out.

"A minor detail that can be easily rewritten," Tobias dismisses with a wave of his hand. "In fact, _this_ ," he points between them excitedly, "will put such a fresh, relevant spin on the whole story. I don't know why I didn't think of it before," he exclaims to himself. "It makes Tracy's unawareness of Alex's attraction to her so much more believable, not to mention Alex's unwillingness to act on the obvious unresolved sexual tension between them."

"Sexual tension?" Rachel echoes with a squeak, feeling her cheeks heat as she glances in Quinn's direction. She immediately notices Quinn's lips pressed into a thin line and her gaze averted to the floor, and Rachel feels her stomach twist unpleasantly at the sight of Quinn's obvious discomfort. "You…you think…but we're not… Quinn isn't auditioning," she insists defensively. Quinn's eyes come up to meet hers, flashing with something vaguely familiar—like there's some unspoken question that she's trying to silently ask that Rachel just can't seem to translate.

Tobias ignores her protest. "Are you currently committed to another show?" he asks Quinn.

Quinn purses her lips, eyes lingering on Rachel for a moment before she looks at Tobias. "No."

"Then read for me," he urges, holding out the pages to her.

"I'm not a singer," she warns him, but it doesn't stop her from accepting his offering.

He turns to look at Rachel, holding out pages to her as well. "Do you agree with that? Or were you being honest when you said that she has a lovely voice? Because if it's even a quarter as lovely as yours, then I don't think it will be an issue."

"You really shouldn't eavesdrop on people's private conversations," Rachel responds testily, snatching the script pages from his hand. "But I never exaggerate when it comes to vocal talent." Those few, rare occasions when she'd gotten to sing with Quinn had proven that their voices are remarkably compatible.

Tobias grins again. "Great. Take a minute to read over the scene while I head back out there," he says as he points to his previous seat. "Then we'll get this audition underway again. Just…use all of that natural chemistry that you have with each other."

Rachel feels herself flush again as he turns and walks off the stage, and she glances briefly at the pages in her hand before she looks up at Quinn. "Are...are you okay with this?" she asks hesitantly. "Because if you're really not, we...we can leave. I don't need this part." Even though she does still want it—crazy writer and all.

Quinn doesn't answer right away. Her attention is focused on the pages in her hand. "It can't hurt to humor the guy, right? It's not like this will really fly with the producer," she reasons, finally looking up at Rachel with an unreadable expression.

Rachel nods slowly. It makes a certain kind of sense, but then again, this _is_  a brand new show, and despite the fact that this is Chicago and not New York, there are still months of rehearsals ahead of them where anything and everything can be changed and rewritten once they see what works and what doesn't in the production. Quinn shouldn't be quite so quick to dismiss the possibility that they could both be cast in this show, so Rachel has to ask, "What if it does?"

Those hazel eyes study Rachel thoughtfully for several moments before a pink tongue darts out to moisten a full lower lip. Quinn takes a step closer into Rachel's personal space. "Then I guess your leading man will be a leading lady," she concludes huskily. "Think you can handle that?"

The tone of the question—weighted with unspoken meaning and lacking any trace of playfulness—takes Rachel by surprise, and her breath hitches. That nervous energy from earlier is back in force, and it suddenly feels like the answer she gives could change everything between them.

It's certainly not that she's _never_  thought about the possibility—well, it's _Quinn_  after all. Of course there'd been moments of curiosity flitting in and out of her mind over the years, especially after she'd found out about the whole Santana thing, but then Quinn had gotten back together with Noah, and Rachel had done her best to support their relationship. Except Quinn isn't with Noah anymore—in fact, she's been very happily single for quite some time now.

"I…I can if you can," Rachel hedges, anxiously waiting to hear what Quinn's response will be.

"Okay, ladies," Tobais calls out from his seat, interrupting the moment. "Could you begin from the top of the page with Tracy's monologue?"

The odd tension between them doesn't completely dissipate, but Quinn does take a step back, smiling mysteriously. "I'm ready whenever you are, Rachel."

Rachel's lips slowly curve into a smile, and she lifts the pages in her hand, barely taking her eyes off of Quinn to glance at her lines. She's so very ready for them to begin.


End file.
